Gravitas
by SydnieWren
Summary: As Orochimaru induces Sasuke to display his growing maturity, Sasuke recalls the education he received from Kakashi, and Kakashi reflects upon what he learned from Minato. Hard M. Dark. SasuNaru, KakaMina, KakaYama, lots of solo.
1. Sasuke

**Hi all! This is going to be about four chapters. It's going to be pretty graphic and rough all the way through, so do mind the warnings. Thanks so much for reading - you guys are great! Please let me know what you think, and have a happy new year!**

**Disclaimer: don't own.**

**Warnings: voyeurism, non-con, frottage. **

* * *

Orochimaru's room is dark, strange-scented and humid, like an animal's den. Sasuke suspects the smell of organic rot emanates from the bandages heaped near the bedside, soaked with exudate and soft, wilted swaths of shed skin. Sweet incense smoke wafts from somewhere, though he cannot make out its source in the half-light of the low burning brazier. Dust and shallow pots of aromatic herbal poultices line the shelves and windowsill as they do in any sickroom.

Orochimaru has situated himself behind a folding screen decorated with scenes from a flooded lowland valley. An amber eye glitters behind its center joint, alert and intense. Sasuke follows the swirling patterns of the flood's current on the screen, and the tomoe in his sharingan begin to spin.

Struggling sounds in the hall as Sasuke dips his head in an insincere gesture of respect.

"Kabuto," Orochimaru says, giving a name to the commotion in the corridor outside his door. It is shouldered open a moment later, and Kabuto appears only slightly disheveled, with a kunoichi gagged and thrashing against him.

Her mouth has been stuffed with her own hitai-ate; with no particular emotion, Sasuke determines by the dangling metal plate that she has come from Konohagakure.

Kabuto sweeps her feet out from under her with one swift motion of his calf, and then kneels against her neck, temporarily stilling her struggling. Sasuke knows what he has been called here for: as he has grown, Orochimaru has become increasingly fond of _experiments _of obscene character, excusing his licentiousness as nothing more than prudent concern for Sasuke's focus, maturity and growth.

Sasuke has no doubt that Orochimaru is invested in the development of his body; after all, his intentions have been poorly veiled since their agreement. He estimates that the man may even be curious as to the range of capabilities afforded him by the sharingan, and motivated by a physician's blithe interest in broadly varied experiments. But there is also that sinister intent that poisons his every motion, every glance, and Sasuke is aware of it as he unties his belt and fastens the woman's arms with it.

Kabuto has taken her shoes. Bare-footed, she kicks at Sasuke and anything else within reach, gasping for air and screaming as best she can through the gag.

"Be quiet," Sasuke demands, infuriated by her flailing. He shrugs out of his haori and slings it over her face, obscuring her vision. In a moment, he knows, he will need to see her eyes to initiate the genjutsu; if he isn't hard before then, he never will be.

In every material way, he is sweeter and softer than Itachi. Where Itachi's features are sharp and aquiline, Sasuke's are rounded and elegant, his neck longer, his jawline narrower. The hitch in Orochimaru's breathing is barely audible as Sasuke slides his pants down his hips and begins to stroke his limp cock.

He breathes through his mouth and scours his mind for some meager trace of fantasy. As a consequence of his single-mindedness he's had little time to develop the kind of rich repository of lustful thoughts that other fifteen-year-olds often rely upon for stimulation. Memory is an even poorer resource. In terms of real, consensual, pleasurable contact between himself and another person, he has only the shred of a recollection, by which he is pleasantly surprised…

* * *

It felt like late spring in the middle of summer. Cool rain fell in the morning, and by the heat of the day, the clouds burned away, leaving the ground moist and fragrant. Flowers still clung to the leafy boughs of the forest canopy, and the sunlight that passed through their petals was golden and thick.

Sakura had insisted upon setting out their lunch on her own, since Naruto had eaten more than half their provisions when it had been his turn, and Sasuke had refused point blank to do girls' work.

Kakashi had stepped away to relieve himself, leaving them with vague directions to figure lunch out and rest before they continued.

"We should scout," Naruto decided, though Kakashi had expressly recommended that they stay put; Sasuke shrugged and thrust his hands in his pockets, having shed his backpack.

They set out into the woods, stepping over new vines and flowering shrubs, their senses trained on the high branches swaying over their heads. With every note of birdsong they stopped and listened, breathed the warm air, and went on cautiously.

Naruto stripped his jacket off and tied it around his waist, lacing his fingers behind his head as they strode along.

"Maybe we should help Sakura-chan," he mused, "what if she gets mad at us for leaving?"

"We're not leaving," Sasuke muttered, "we're scouting."

"Same thing," Naruto declared, scowling.

"Hardly. Shut up."

Before Sasuke could still to listen for what he was sure had been an off-beat shuffle of leaves, Naruto slammed his fist into his shoulder, sending him stumbling sever al steps. Sasuke responded in kind, jabbing at the other's stomach, landing some blows, missing others. Naruto grasped his shoulders to grapple, digging his heels into the yielding earth, but Sasuke was swifter, and with a pivot of his foot, swung him off balance.

Naruto's back collided with the broad trunk of a nearby tree, forcing a harsh gasp from him. It took a moment for him to regain his composure, and by then Sasuke was pressed flush against him, his hand fastened over his mouth.

"Shut up," he hissed, "listen."

Wind shifted in the trees, sending a shower of petals drifting to the forest floor in a stray shaft of sunlight. Naruto's breath came hot and damp against Sasuke's hand, and his heart pounded in his flushed ears.

Sasuke scanned the canopy for movement out of joint with the swaying of the trees, and found nothing.

Naruto wriggled his hands free and flattened his palms against Sasuke's shoulders, threatening to shove him off. It was then that Sasuke became aware of the dark flush staining the other's face, and the strange pressure against his thigh.

He loosened his hand from Naruto's mouth and looked down between them. As he had suspected, Naruto's orange pants were drawn oddly tight across the groin. Sasuke's eyes widened momentarily, and he was suddenly sensitive to the scent of Naruto's sweat, the heat of his body, the pounding of his pulse.

"Get off me," Naruto growled weakly, his voice breaking midway through the demand.

Sasuke fisted both hands in the boy's white undershirt, forcing him hard against the tree.

"I said shut up," he reminded him, then glancing downward as he rocked his hips against Naruto's experimentally.

It felt better than he had anticipated. A tingling rush of warmth threatened to weaken his knees, and though he could scarcely concentrate given such a compelling distraction, he repeated the motion. Naruto sucked his lower lip between his teeth and furrowed his brows together as sweat broke out over his forehead and neck.

"Quit it," he grunted without conviction. Sasuke acknowledged him with a threatening scowl.

"Just be quiet," he muttered, reaching down to fumble with the fly of his shorts. Naruto breathed hard for long moments before glancing furtively around and doing the same.

Their hands were sweat slicked and shaking, and their fingers tangled and their knuckles bumped, but Sasuke finally grasped both their penises together, and held tightly.

Naruto bit down on his lip to stifle a yelp. Without warning, he pressed his forehead against Sasuke's shoulder, unwilling to look the other in the eyes. Sasuke held his shirt tight as he tried to establish something like a rhythm through the shocks and sparks of pleasure.

It seemed as though Naruto meant to say something; Sasuke was vaguely aware of a low, panicked hum in his throat, but he was too focused on the swiftly swelling knot of pleasure tightening in his belly.

A kunai planted itself firmly in the bark of the tree above Naruto's head. Sasuke gasped and his chest tightened; at once he flattened his palms against the boy and shoved himself stumbling backwards, scrambling to zip his fly. Naruto ducked behind the tree immediately, his hands working at his clothes.

Sasuke whirled around and saw nothing. His glance darted from the highest point of the canopy to the trunks of surrounding trees, and he began to form preliminary seals as his mind raced.

"Naruto, head back to camp and help Sakura."

Kakashi appeared from a thicket of fern fronds, his hands casually tucked into his pockets. All of the blood drained from Naruto's face, and without a word, he turned to sprint back toward camp.

Sasuke gulped.

"You," Kakashi went on, jutting his chin toward the remaining boy, "come with me to check for traps."

A cold sweat swept over Sasuke.

He followed wordlessly.

Kakashi's gait was as serene and steady as ever, though his mind reeled somewhat as he tried to come up with a way to address what he had seen.

They walked in silence for some time, periodically brushing aside low-growing brush to check for trip wires in suspiciously thick patches of foliage.

"I'm not mad, you know," Kakashi said at length, "I mean, you're not in trouble."

Sasuke tensed. Ahead was the sound of water, and as they continued on, they came upon a shallow ravine that sloped into a healthily rushing creek. A few boulders lined its banks, along with some fallen trees. Kakashi motioned him onward.

"It's probably obvious why that's not a good idea on missions," he went on as they carefully climbed down the slanting bank.

"Nothing happened," Sasuke ground out.

Kakashi raised an eyebrow.

"As you noticed, it's a distraction. That's not good."

"People do it all the time," Sasuke countered, a tinge of color rising to his cheeks.

Kakashi shrugged and stepped up onto a boulder to command a better view of the ravine.

"I think that's all overblown," he remarked after a moment, "a lot of the people who go on about that stuff make more noise than love."

Sasuke squinted up at him, and then looked away, grimacing. He felt faintly nauseous and somewhat dehydrated, and the fading effects of the encounter left him disoriented.

Kakashi seemed to notice. He squatted down in place on the rock, and invited Sasuke to sit as well. The boy crossed his arms and leaned against the boulder, looking pointedly away.

They listened to the water rush. Kakashi seemed to be gathering his thoughts.

"Look," he said finally, "there's nothing wrong with sex." He paused. "There's nothing _inherently _wrong with sex. This is just neither the time nor place."

Sasuke shrugged, scowling.

"Nothing happened," he repeated, as if to make it true.

"Yeah, well, no, it did," Kakashi insisted, "and that's the thing about stuff like this. Hard to undo. Consequences, and all that. Better to put it off."

Sasuke was silent, and Kakashi rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

"And I'm not saying there's no place for dry humping in a man's life. It's just something you work up to. There are steps in between. Holding hands, kissing…ah, dating…things like that."

He peered down at Sasuke with a hopeful smile, but the boy looked back up at him in doleful confusion.

"Dry humping?" he asked.

"Slang," Kakashi muttered apologetically, "it means, well…it's self-explanatory."

But it wasn't, and Sasuke glared into the water.

"I know when you're young, and you've got everybody telling you you're a genius, a lot of things seem simple, and some of them are. But some of them aren't. And this is one that…there's more there than you'd think."

Nothing he was saying seemed to be helping Sasuke make sense of the boundaries he had discovered and transgressed all in one swift sequence of moments. Kakashi slumped back against the sun-warmed boulder and gazed up at the shadows of birds passing overhead.

_I don't get paid enough for this, _he ruminated. It seemed like a worthwhile project nonetheless, if only due to his acute awareness of Sasuke's lack of paternal guidance in such matters. In that arena, he could easily sympathize, and as he pondered their similar circumstances, he remembered the penalties for such failures with cruel clarity…

* * *

**More soon! Please review.**


	2. Kakashi

**Hi all! Thanks for your reads. I know this fic is a little weird (as Rosebunse rightly pointed out!) so thank you doubly for sticking with me. Please let me know what you think!**

**Disclaimer: don't own.  
**

**Warnings: oral, age difference.  
**

* * *

"Winded already?"

Kakashi slid his tanto back into its sheath and extended a hand to Minato, who had flattened out on the golden grass to catch his breath. Leagues above them, thick clouds stirred and roiled, flashing pale silver in the blue discs of Minato's eyes.

"I _have _been busy lately," he grinned up at Kakashi.

"Excuses."

Minato took his student's hand with a gracious smile and drew up to his knees, drinking in the cool, moist air for a moment longer before standing.

"You'll see one of these days," he sighed, squeezing the other's shoulder in a playful rendition of paternal concern. Kakashi's body no longer yielded to his grip as it had when he was a boy; Minato drew his hand away slightly disconcerted by the tactile reality of time's passing. As the other walked ahead of him, he took slightly prideful note of his easy, agile gait, now supported by lean muscle and practiced grace.

"I don't think so," Kakashi countered, glancing over his shoulder.

"No?"

They strolled aimlessly from the training grounds, each taking some comfort in their shared solitude. A low peal of thunder half-concealed Kakashi's voice, now nearing the end of its gradual drop to adult depth.

"Just don't think I could be tied down like that," he mused.

"I don't think anybody thinks so when they're fifteen," Minato pointed out.

Kakashi briefly regarded the other, glimpsing his profile against a flash of lightening. Minato was as vigorously graceful as ever, having retained that peculiar softness of features well into his late twenties. Even as responsibility had increasingly burdened him, his aggressive buoyancy had kept him radiant and clear-eyed, producing in him that coveted quality of leaders that tinged their decisions with otherworldly authority.

Kakashi looked away.

"Maybe," he shrugged.

A couple of stray raindrops landed in Minato's hair, and he held his palm out flat to test their frequency. They came quicker and quicker, dotting his hand with cool water.

"Ah, autumn showers," he smiled, "they'll have saury out soon, eh?" He nudged Kakashi with his elbow, his grin faltering when the other's posture tensed on reflex.

"Hope they have it out now," Kakashi replied, "I'm starving."

Minato could not discern when, in the past months, Kakashi had become so thoroughly _lethal_. He had been an opponent of the boy's appointment as ANBU, as he had long detected a cruel streak in his combat style. Nonetheless, Kakashi had enjoyed two years of commended service so far, and had gained a reputation for remarkable brutality.

"It's on me," Minato declared, ducking under the eave of a shop as they emerged from the training fields. Kakashi strode alongside him, pleased by the prospect of warm food.

"If you say so," he agreed.

"Ah," Minato smiled sheepishly, patting the empty space at his hip, "we'll have to stop by my place. I don't have my wallet on me."

Kakashi knew the way by heart, and though the rain was uncommonly cold given the autumn wind, he followed along at a leisurely pace.

The rain fell heavier and a continuous murmur of thunder rolled among the clouds. From the gravel path leading to Minato's door, Kakashi could see that the house was entirely dark inside.

"Nobody home?" he probed, mildly surprised.

Minato cleared a few traps and ducked inside, the other close behind him.

"Ah, she's visiting shrines with friends," he explained, and Kakashi surmised at once that the birth must be imminent. He made a sound of acknowledgement and shrugged out of his flak jacket, leaving it in a soaking heap near the door with Minato's.

"It's really pouring," Minato noted as he switched on the kitchen light. Outside the small window above the sink, lightening split the sky, followed by crashes of thunder. Kakashi dropped languidly into a chair at the table, leaning on his crossed forearms.

"We should wait it out, I think," he went on, turning to Kakashi with an apologetic grin, "maybe over a drink?"

Kakashi perked up somewhat, having recently developed a healthy drinking habit. He watched as Minato stretched to fetch a bottle of sake from a high cabinet, then hooking two cups on his fingers and then crossing to the table.

"I've haven't been drinking for a while," he explained as he poured, "since Kushina can't have it. So don't tell on me, huh?"

They tapped their cups together and drank to an easy birth.

"She cut you off just because she had to sober up for a little?" Kakashi raised an eyebrow.

"Ah, well…" Minato's complexion took on a rosy flush as he finished his cup and poured another. He looked up pointedly at Kakashi, noting that his mask was still in place over the bridge of his nose. "You aren't going to drink through your mask all night, are you?"

"Why wouldn't I?" It had become second nature.

"It's good sake," Minato explained patiently, "it's just wrong to strain it through a sweaty mask."

"It isn't that sweaty," Kakashi protested, though his persistence was no match for Minato's practiced glare. With a protracted sigh, he tugged the mask down his jaw, and offered his cup for a refill.

On countless occasions, Minato had seen Kakashi's face sans mask, though as he sifted through his memories he recalled a childish roundness to the jaw and chin that no longer remained, and could not recall lips so sculpted and expressive as the ones settled on the rim of his cup.

"You've really developed a taste for sake," he pointed out blithely, though a note of concern hovered in the silence.

"You're drinking more than me."

"I've just missed it," Minato grinned, nearing the end of his second cup.

"And what else?"

Kakashi's question had been intended only as light ribbing, but it hung heavily in the air between them. Minato leaned against his chair and sighed, growing somber.

"It's not so bad as you think," he said softly. Already the bottle had dwindled to nearly nothing; Kakashi suspected his sensei had been looking forward to it for sometime.

"You don't miss it?" Kakashi referred only partly to the alcohol. By the somewhat distant look in his narrowed eyes, Minato deduced that he meant the full experience of life as a shinobi.

"Some of it," he admitted, "sometimes. I don't miss ANBU."

"No?" Kakashi seemed a little surprised. "ANBU have the best _extracurricular _activities, I find."

Minato's sake-induced flush seemed to darken a touch at the tops of his ears. Among the cascade of memories triggered by Kakashi's innuendo were recollections of pleasure, the gasping, grating, intense moments of the most primal rutting; he could remember tree bark under his hands, and the ephemeral freedom provided by the porcelain mask, behind which he was anyone.

"You should be careful with that, Kakashi," he admonished lightly, avoiding the other's clear, level gaze.

"_That's _the dangerous part of an ANBU mission?" Kakashi was grinning, and he continued drinking, doing his best to keep up with his sensei.

"More than you might expect," Minato insisted earnestly, "just because you have a man's body, Kakashi, doesn't mean you're ready to do what men do together."

"Men?" Kakashi's brow quirked pointedly, and his muted grin took on an inquisitive twist.

Minato found himself bereft of all custodial wisdom. His lips parted soundlessly, and he watched Kakashi stand and stretch.

"Kakashi –" he reached out, intending to catch him by his wrist; instead, his palm settled against the ridge of the jounin's hip. Kakashi's glance flickered down to the source of the contact, then up again to Minato's face.

Without a word, Kakashi dropped his hand to the fly of his pants, unclasped the button, and caught the tab of his zipper between his forefinger and thumb.

Minato watched wide-eyed, his thoughts struggling to catch up with reality through his heavy buzz.

"You can't possibly…" he peered up at Kakashi, who seemed as evenly resolute as ever.

"I'm ready to kill and die for this village, but not for this?"

"It's not that simple," Minato replied weakly. He moved to draw his hand away, but Kakashi caught it, and tentatively brought it nearer to the hardness that had formed under his pants.

It had been so long. Minato hadn't felt that searing heat rushing through his veins in months, and had gone without that distinct sensation of fullness he had only experienced with male lovers. He swallowed hard and let his eyes drift closed as he desperately tried to recover his rationale.

Instead his hand seized on the outline of thick hardness palpable through Kakashi's clothes.

Kakashi's last coherent thought was of his incredible fortune. Minato was beautiful, and for sometime he had resigned himself to fantasies about him, but the reality was more exquisite than his dreams could conjure. In life, Minato's eyes were brighter and bluer, his touch more sure, his submission to his own emotions twice as raw and evident.

He tugged the zipper down and slid from his seat onto the floor, steadying himself with a hard grip on Kakashi's hip.

Underneath his standard-issue navies, Kakashi's body was every inch _man _and not _boy_; smooth, tight planes stretched between the jutting edges of his hipbones, framing the coarsely ridged abdominal muscles above. Minato spread open the zippered edges of Kakashi's fly and pushed down the waistband of his underwear to circle the base of his cock with his fingers.

Kakashi gasped. A hand shot out instinctively to steady him against the edge of the table.

"M-minato," he breathed, and though he couldn't bring himself to sink the fingers of his opposite hand into such iconic yellow hair, he settled for grasping his sensei's shoulder, and held on tight.

Minato ran his tongue over his lower lip before leaning close to envelop the tip of Kakashi's cock. The taste was unique but familiar, earthy sweetness and salt, and the sensation of fullness that he remembered so lustfully ignited a rush of lust in his belly as the head of Kakashi's cock settled against the back of his throat.

"I – I'm –" Kakashi panted, leaning over slightly as his knees weakened and his blood pounded in his ears. He grit his teeth and fought against his climax, but Minato's lips were tight around his cock, and with each movement of the older man's mouth, he could feel the steady wet pressure spurring him on.

It could have lasted no more than a few minutes. Kakashi came quick and hard in Minato's throat, groaning half-slurred syllables as his fingers dug into his sensei's shoulder. His orgasm left him flushed and breathing hard, barely able to maintain is posture. Minato rose to his feet slowly, dragging the back of his hand across his swollen lips.

"Let me," Kakashi murmured, gesturing downward.

"Kakashi," Minato spoke the name with tenderness the younger man was completely unaccustomed to, and cupped his cheek when he noticed the resulting flinch.

The flesh of Kakash's jaw was pale and unblemished and eminently _smooth_.

_He's never even shaved._

The realization came to Minato in shades, cooling his blood and sinking into the pit of his stomach with a cold weight. He drew his hand back, and retreated a step, turning his face courteously away as his student righted his clothes.

"Kakashi," he cleared his throat and tried to emulate resolve he could not truly summon, "I think – I'm sorry. This – this was – I think we should talk about this later. I think you should go."

The air in the room felt suddenly cooler, and the storm seemed to have quieted. Both became aware of the emptiness of the mostly tile kitchen, and the echo of every breath sounded louder than before.

"Now," Minato clarified quietly.

Kakashi was still for long moments before he muttered something to the effect of _I'll show myself out._ He wandered through Minato's front door with a soft, uncertain goodbye, still dazed by the receding effects of his orgasm along with the sake.

Minato sank shakily into his kitchen chair and settled his forehead on his folded arms.

He could think of reasons for what he had done, but no excuses. There was the alcohol, of course, and his lowered tolerance to it in light of his abstinence. It had also been some time since Kushina had allowed him to make love to her, having been advised by her physicians that still, quiet tranquility was the highest salutary measure for pregnancy. And there was, as Kakashi had suspected, the gradual, oppressive stagnation of easy domesticity. Of course he had accepted each measure in good humor, supposing them necessary.

But none of it came close to excusing or explaining what he had chosen to do. Minato raked his fingers through his hair and felt a sickly wave of shame swell in the pit of his stomach. Thousands of thoughts raced in his mind, though one in particular was sonorous and clear: _I should have listened to Jiraiya when it mattered…_


	3. Minato

**Hi all, here's part 3. The fourth and final part will be up very soon! Thanks for the reads, I appreciate it!**

**Disclaimer: don't own.  
**

**Warnings: masturbation, brief Kaka/Yama anal.  
**

* * *

The savory scent of pork roasting over charcoal had Minato's mouth watering long before he reached the open door of the restaurant. It was a balmy summer evening, and clusters of patrons waited for seats or smoked together outside the door. Minato smiled brightly and waved to a few acquaintances among the crowd, glowing at the sight of familiar faces.

"Oi, Minato!" one of them called, "you back? Let's get a drink!"

"Ah, I'm meeting my sensei," Minato apologized, "but I'll take you up on it this weekend."

"Don't forget it," the other agreed happily, turning back to his circle of friends.

Minato waded through the crowd, wedging his way up to the maître'd. Recognition brightened the headwaiter's expression as they made eye contact.

"Long time, no see!" he called, rounding his post to clap a hand on the jounin's shoulder, "Where've you been? We worried!"

"You worried?" Minato parodied offense with a grin.

"It's natural," the waiter insisted, guiding Minato between bustling tables of chattering customers. When he heard the light music of feminine laughter rising over the chorus of conversation, he knew they had neared Jiraiya's table.

The man was spread out at a corner table tacitly reserved for his use, where the pretty waitresses made their fortunes in tips. He held court there often, signing books and swigging sake, often simultaneously. When Jiraiya's eyes lit on him, he slammed his hand down on the surface of the table, clinking empty cups together.

"Finally, ah! There he is!" he poured two overflowing glasses of sake and looped his arm around a passing waitress's waist. "See, Amiko-chan? I told you he'd come!"

"Sorry I'm late," Minato greeted the woman with a charming dip of his head, "I was held up."

"By _what?_" Jiraiya demanded playfully, "and don't say a mission. There's no mission out there that could hold you any more than I could hold a tiger by the toe. It was a woman, I'm guessing. A lady's the only thing in the world worth being _late _over, if you ask me."

The waitress had wriggled free of his grasp and sidled toward Minato to take his order. Jiraya busied himself with his sake, his cheeks already lightly flushed from drinking.

"It _was _a mission," Minato assured him, "though I was mostly distracted by your latest book."

"So you've read it!" Jiraiya roared, his lopsided grin spreading. "Well, out with it: what'd you think?"

"Riveting," Minato smiled and leaned back as the waitress reappeared with trays of tsukemono arranged in colorful patterns.

"It's a good habit to read," the man remarked, pleased with his positive influence on his student.

"I should spend more time on poetry and history, ne?" his student teased, indicating the conventional education he had thus far eschewed for Jiraiya's eccentric curricula.

"Bullshit!"

Minato laughed openly at the other's outburst, and nodded for him to go on.

"All that's dry, withered up – there's nothing there. You think it's not literature because it's a little _pink_? Ha! Literature –" he thrust a cup out emphatically, leaning toward his student, "—_literature _is a mirror."

"A _mirror_?" Minato lifted a clove of pickled garlic with his chopsticks and brought it to his lips without taking his eyes off his animated dining partner.

"Absolutely," Jiraiya declared, "a mirror. The people we know, the things we do, the places we live – all of them are elusive, mysterious. We think we know them, but we don't."

"And…_this _and _that _and _other things _– those things elude us, sensei?" He quirked a blonde brow. Fit, vigorous and not yet twenty, he felt quite certain that the ins-and-outs of sex were as clear to him as they were to anyone. Jiraiya's mystification of lovemaking was quaint and charming, something he found comfortably entertaining about his sensei, and had for sometime.

"More than you'd ever imagine," Jiraiya advised him sagely, "that's the rule in life. Things that seem complicated – honor, loyalty – those things are straightforward: protect your village, stand by your teammates, and you're honorable and loyal. The things that seem simple are the ones nobody can figure out."

Minato could hardly guess what images flickered behind Jiraiya's sharply aware eyes. He regarded him fondly, his expression familiar and amiable, halfway between the reverence of a student and the admiration of a peer.

"All the more reason to spend time on missions and reading," Minato decided lightly.

* * *

_I would have been better off if I had._

Minato raked his fingers through his hair and stood as the rain dissipated outside his kitchen window. Kakashi had left his chair somewhat askew, so the jounin righted it before placing their cups gently in the sink.

His heart seized as he thought of Kushina seeing them there, and suspecting absolutely nothing.

_She'll be glad I had somebody over_.

Trudging up the stairs to the bedroom they shared was akin to wading through waist-high water. His legs felt weighty and clumsy as stone, and a thick tide of nausea roiled in his stomach.

He didn't bother with the lights: without them on, he felt concealed, hidden. Shame was revealed in observation, and presently, only Kakashi knew of his guilt. Minato lay down in bed after stripping haphazardly, vaguely disgusted to find that his sex was still fully hard.

_What brought this on?_

Laying on his side did nothing to ease the uncomfortable sensitivity of his skin. His blood still felt warmer than usual, and it pulsed in his cock with every beat of his heart. Minato licked his lips and scoured his mind for some reason for what he had done.

Memories twisted and drifted beneath his consciousness. Some months ago, during one of his late-night strolls through the office complex, he had seen sure evidence of Kakashi's proclivities, though he had kept it to himself at the time. He could recall standing motionless outside the jounin standby station, rooted to the spot by surprise.

_Kakashi wore his flak jacket and navies, but the man bent before him wore the bone-and-black ANBU standard, his face concealed by a cat mask. He steadied himself with trembling hands on the back of the bench, his feet planted unsteadily on the floor._

"_Easy, Tenzou," Kakashi grunted. Shallow breath echoed in the porcelain interior of the mask, and the slighter man shook from the pace of it._

"_I hate it when you zone out like that," Kakashi went on, punctuating his remark with a particularly pointed thrust. Tenzou groaned._

"_I'm not," he said weakly, "I'm not doing that, senpai."_

Minato sucked his lip between his teeth and tightened his hands into fists. A droplet of precum seeped into the sheets as the memory played out in his mind, now as much fantasy as recollection. He circled his sex with calloused fingers and felt his breath catch as he began to stroke himself.

As he moved his hand along the length of his cock he thought of Kakashi, of the salt of his skin and seed still lingering on his tongue. He was young, that much had been excruciatingly clear; but he was also exceptional in every arena any shinobi could hope to excel in, fast on his way to surpassing his superiors with little effort. Minato realized on some level that he was as dazzled by Kakashi as he was infatuated with him, and as proud as he was concerned. His affect was as sharp as his shoulder blades, and the extraordinary skill with which he wielded the sharingan was second only to the impossible length of those sinewy legs -

It was only when he came, his muscles contracting weakly against his better judgment, that he realized his eyes had been closed. He opened them slowly, glancing about the familiar room that now felt unsettling and alien. His bedside clock flashed the time and date: seven minutes into the sixth day of October.

Minato ran the back of his hand over his lips and brushed strands of blond hair away from his eyes. A cold clarity began to sink in.

Kushina would be arriving home in only a few hours, and Minato felt wholly unprepared. He sat up, dizzy with alcohol and emotion, and swung his legs over the edge of their bed, resolving to wash the sheets before she returned.

_I'll tell her after the birth, _he decided, hoping against likelihood that the woman would be forgiving.

Jiraiya's voice echoed in his mind, streaming into his thoughts from years ago, when things had been easier, or seemed that way.

_The things that seem simple are the ones nobody can figure out._

Minato peeled the fitted sheet from the mattress with grim precision, wincing as he predicted Kushina's gratitude for the laundry being done upon her return.

He descended the stairs in the dark and stuffed the bedding down into the well of the washing machine, dousing it with more detergent than was really necessary. Closing the laundry closet behind him, he listened to the low hum of the machine as it flooded and whirled; the sound reminded him of her, of the orderliness she reigned over in their home.

_I'll figure this out, _he promised no one in particular, leaning heavily in the doorway of his kitchen. An untoward stinging arose in his sinuses, and he absently brought his palm up to cup his temple. He did not begin to speculate as to where Kakashi may have been or what he may have been up to in the aftermath of his indiscretion, though his conscience wouldn't allow him to put his student out of his mind.

It was only hours later that he entertained the notion that he had made his point about the danger of indiscriminate liaisons as well as he possibly could have, given Kakashi's particular style of learning. He turned his face from the first flush of dawn as it poured through his window, and drifted uneasily into a dreamless sleep.


End file.
